


I know a place where summer strives

by thelittlestbird



Category: Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery
Genre: F/F, Mutual Pining, Mutual Stubbornness, Rule 63, Teen Crush, f!Gilbert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:14:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28111479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelittlestbird/pseuds/thelittlestbird
Summary: Prompts:- how would things have been different if Gilbert was a girl?- what if Anne and Gilbert have to solve a small-town mystery together?Summary: The rivalry between Anne Shirley and Gilbert Blythe has divided the girls of Avonlea for years, but when Anne is faced with a difficult problem, it’s Gilbert’s aid – and her devoted understanding of who Anne is – that just might help Anne find her way back to happiness.
Relationships: Gilbert Blythe/Anne Shirley
Comments: 12
Kudos: 29
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	I know a place where summer strives

**Author's Note:**

  * For [violetmoods](https://archiveofourown.org/users/violetmoods/gifts).



Summer had come to Avonlea, bringing clear blue skies, bright sunshine, and endless golden-hour evenings that faded gently into still-warm sunsets and nights. The scent of wild roses mingled with the cool salt of the sea breeze; and hillsides turned blue with the riot of cornflowers that clustered thickly on every gentle slope.

Through the warmth of one of these summer Saturday afternoons strolled Gilbert Blythe. Her brown curls were mostly restrained in a thick plait down her back, save for a few which the wind had tugged free. It was a rare and precious afternoon of leisure: even in the height of summer, much of Gilbert’s time was devoted to studying. She would much rather have been outside no matter what the weather – much to the despair of her mother, who felt that rowing boats and rambling in meadows and romping with dogs were not proper ladylike pursuits. Still, Gilbert had built up the discipline to devote herself to schoolwork when she needed to: even though the Queen’s class had just been formed, and even though the examination itself was very far off in the future, she was certain that she needed to be at her absolute best to have any hope of getting the results that she wanted. 

What Gilbert was less certain about, though, was whether the results she wanted included outdoing Anne Shirley. She wanted top marks, of course…but if Gilbert getting them meant depriving Anne of something that Anne wanted so dearly, then could Gilbert really be happy about it? 

Her deft fingers - stained with the ink of the previous day’s study and berry juice from the present day’s rambling in the fields – stole into the pocket of her pale-green dress, where there rested a dried rose, still faintly fragrant, but only a ghost of what it had been a few months before when she had picked it up after Anne had let it fall at the end of the concert. 

All the Avonlea girls – both the ‘set’ that centered on Anne Shirley and Diana Barry; and the one that centered on Gilbert Blythe and Charlotte Sloane – had noted that gesture at the time. The feud between Anne and Gilbert had divided the girls of Avonlea for years now, and every move that brought the two principal parties either further apart or closer together was the subject of intense conversation by the others. Once or twice there had been an attempt at bridging the gap by one or another of the minor players – usually Jane Andrews and Charlotte Sloane – but it never lasted for long. 

For Gilbert to make an overture to Anne, though, even one as indirect as picking up the rose, was even more dramatic. Despite the fevered gossip at the time, that gesture seemed to have been mostly forgotten now, except by Gilbert herself. She did not know if she dared to hope that Anne remembered, too; mainly because she did not know if it would be worse if Anne looked back on it with disdain or if she had forgotten it entirely.

Gilbert reached out to snag another handful of berries from a bush as she passed, only wincing a little at the scrape of the bramble along her fingers. Like the long hours of study, that small bit of pain was worth it if it meant reaching sweetness later on. Popping a berry in her mouth, she turned aside to stroll down the small path that wound down to the brook. Perhaps she could take off her shoes and wade a bit? She might not get another chance this summer.

As she crested over the top of the hill, she stopped short: there, on the slope leading down to the brook, was Anne Shirley. It looked as if Anne had come to this spot to find solitude and literary contemplation: a notebook and pencil lay sprawled on the grass next to her, along with an apple core and a dime novel. The sunlight beamed down onto her hair in a way that Anne would probably have hated for the way it brightened its red sheen, but which put Gilbert in mind of a second sun, brilliant and glowing.

But for all the glory of nature around her, Anne was curled in on herself, shoulders drooping and melancholy, with a tear or two trickling down her face.

Those tears twisted at Gilbert’s heart in a way that even she couldn’t have predicted that they would. She could have turned around and left Anne to her misery, but instead she stopped, and called out softly, “Anne? Are you all right?”

At the sound of that voice, Anne gave a start. Her tearstained face whipped around to shoot a wary look at Gilbert, and then her chin lifted defiantly as she turned away. “I am not speaking to you,” she pronounced with great – if slightly choked – dignity. 

“Come on.” A note of pleading consolation softened Gilbert’s voice. “I won’t tease; I promise. I just want to know what’s wrong. Maybe I can help?” she offered, with sudden inspiration. Anne remained upright and motionless – but she didn’t move away. So Gilbert ventured a little more: she sat down next to Anne, folding her coltishly long legs under her in what she had been trying to turn into ladylike grace, but knew she hadn’t achieved yet. She even dared to offer a smile and a laugh as she said, “I don’t have a boat this time, but if there’s something I can do, then I’d like to.”

The mention of the boat brought Anne’s gaze back up to Gilbert, gray eyes meeting hazel for the first time. Ever since that day when Gilbert had rescued Anne on the river, something had been different between them; something that Anne almost never allowed to rise into to the conscious parts of her mind. Something that kept Anne there, sitting next to Gilbert, when a year ago she would have simply gotten up and run away.

For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of Anne’s sniffles and the ripple of the brook underneath it. Finally, Anne said, “If you _must_ know, I am laboring under two exceedingly onerous burdens in relation to Mrs. Allan.” Gilbert nodded – she knew how ardently Anne admired the minister’s wife. She didn’t interject, though; she just let Anne carry her along on a stream of words as swift as the brook that she sat beside. “I managed to disappoint her by letting my attention wander last Sunday – you remember, that day started out horribly dismal and gray, but then there was the most beautiful shimmering rainbow? That rainbow positively _captivated_ my attention so strongly that I could not tear my eyes away from it, and by the time I realized how enthralled I had been, I had entirely missed what Mrs. Allan said, and I am afraid that I attempted to answer a question that she had asked several minutes prior, and she _knew_ that I had not been giving her class the serious devotion that I should have!” Anne’s cheeks burned with the remembered humiliation. “I simply cannot bear to think that I have disappointed Mrs. Allan. I don’t expect you would know what that’s like,” she added, with a burst of that old disdain for Gilbert, “having someone whose shining example that you wish you could live up to, and whose happiness spills over onto yours.” Those moments of scorn were increasingly rare for Anne these days, and even as the words left her mouth, she felt a twinge of something not-quite-right about the way she’d spoken. 

The uneasy sensation only grew stronger when Anne saw the wistful look in Gilbert’s bright hazel eyes, and heard the quiet note in Gilbert’s voice as she said, “Actually, I do have an idea, yes.” 

Anne pushed ahead, trying to leave those thoughts behind her as quickly as possible. “And then I thought that I might have an opportunity to redeem myself in her eyes. Her dog Tippet has run away, you see, so now in addition to knowing that she is disappointed in me, I have the heavy knowledge that she is unhappy for other reasons! So if I could find the dog, then I could bring her some joy _and_ demonstrate that I am not as scatterbrained as that one moment’s lapse might suggest, but instead that I am the sort of person that one may rely upon. But…” Anne paused – for this part, she would have to admit defeat to Gilbert, something which pained her deeply. “I can hardly even figure out where to begin to look.”

There, she had said it! Anne braced for Gilbert’s scorn – or worse, Gilbert’s triumph, at seeing Anne so downcast. But it did not come; instead, all Gilbert said was “I’m sorry,” in that same very soft tone as before. “I can understand how that would be difficult.” 

Anne shot a wary look over her shoulder – was Gilbert mocking her? No; those sparkling hazel eyes were serious, and her frequent smile was absent, leaving Gilbert’s expression quiet and sincere.

For a long moment after that, there was no sound but that of the brook and the wind in the trees, while Gilbert watched Anne. Finally, Gilbert broke the silence: “Would you…let me help?” She was going to have to phrase this very carefully – none of her impulsive bursts or spontaneous overtures of friendship. Those never worked anyway; whenever she tried, she’d always ended up on even worse terms with Anne than before. “I’ve had a few dogs myself, so perhaps I might have some ideas of how to go about looking.” Gilbert thought she’d said that well enough: she couldn’t sound as if she were trying to outmatch Anne with superior knowledge, because that would only make things worse, too. “If you start back at the Allans’ house where the dog was seen last, then we could see if there’s a trail to follow.”

Gilbert’s eye fell on the book strewn casually aside on the grass - _The Leavenworth Case_ – and another inspiration struck her. That glow that always came into Anne’s eyes when she was imagining herself as someone in a story; that wonderful dedication to literature that had led Anne to float down the river in a boat – could Gilbert connect to that? “Perhaps we could even imagine that we were real detectives as we were doing it. You could be Everett Raymond,” she suggested, naming the young lawyer who narrated the book and helped solve the mystery. Gilbert had read it herself at the beginning of the summer, hiding it in plain paper covers so that her parents wouldn’t see her reading something as sensational as a _detective novel._ “And I could be…” Not the lead detective Mr. Gryce – even for Anne’s sake, she wouldn’t want to have to pretend to be that gloomy old fellow. “I could be Eleanore?” Gilbert ventured.

Her heart gave a thump as she said it. Eleanore was the victim’s niece, with whom Mr. Raymond fell in love. It was the sort of thing that Anne did all the time: the girls in her set were always playing out the plots of the novels they read, love stories and all. But this was the first time that Gilbert had offered to join, and she wasn’t entirely sure what it would mean for her to play that role.

Gilbert didn’t have time to think too much further down that path, because she could see the spark of interest starting to light Anne’s tear-blurred gray eyes, and she knew at once that she’d guessed correctly: pretending to be a character in a story was exactly the sort of thing that would help Anne feel better. 

Anne gave one more bracing sniff to drive away the last of her tears. “Very well,” she conceded – and then rounded on Gilbert to add: “But you must promise not to speak to me.” She was still ‘not speaking’ to Gilbert, after all, even if she had just had an entire conversation with her. “If I’m to be Mr. Raymond, that is,” she continued, hastily returning to the world of the book to justify herself. “He couldn’t allow Eleanore to get too close to him.” She started to turn away even as she said it, angling one last look back over her shoulder along with her last words: “It might compromise his impartiality in his investigation.” But her eyes held Gilbert’s for a moment longer, like the last flare of light before the sun sank below the horizon.

Gilbert sighed. “Of course. I promise. I’ll swear a solemn oath, if you like,” she added, with a sudden burst of inspiration. That felt to her like an even more Anne-ish thing to say, offering to swear a solemn oath.

She was right about that, too: Anne brightened a little more. “Very well,” Anne said again. “Swear it, then.” She scrambled to her feet, giving her skirt a pat to smooth out the wrinkles that had come from sitting crumpled on the ground, and drew herself up straight, pale face earnest. “I, Gilbert Blythe,” she began – then paused, prompting Gilbert with a pointed glance of her gray eyes.

“I, Gilbert Blythe,” she repeated, hastily taking her cue.

Anne nodded in satisfaction, and continued: “ – do solemnly swear and vouchsafe – “

“ – do solemnly swear and vouchsafe – “

“ – that I shall not speak a single word to Anne Shirley while undertaking our quest.”

“ – that I shall not speak a single word to Anne Shirley while undertaking our quest,” Gilbert finished – and then added for good measure, “Upon my honor,” because that seemed like an even more Anne-ish thing to say.

Anne sniffed at the departure from her script, but couldn’t help the little glint of approval that leaped into her eyes. Gilbert couldn’t help smiling when she saw it, either – she knew she’d done something else right. 

Anne drew herself up straighter, setting her small face into a serious intensity. “Follow me closely, Miss Leavenworth,” she instructed. “I will do my utmost to ensure your safety.” The rhythm of her speech shifted as she spoke, every sentence closer to matching Mr. Raymond’s brisk patter. “But I must caution you that we are about to embark upon a most dangerous endeavor.”

Gilbert folded her hands in front of her, trying to emulate Eleanore’s manner: her intense, passionate emotion, barely restrained behind a cool exterior; showing through only in the tight clasp of her hands and the burning gaze of her eyes. Still obediently silent, Gilbert nodded, and looked towards Anne with what she hoped was a burning gaze.

Anne frowned. “Are you all right?” she asked, breaking character for a moment. “Have you taken a sudden headache? Or is the sun in your eyes?”

Apparently her gaze had not successfully burned after all. Gilbert looked down, more sheepish and less burning, and shook her head: no, she was not in any distress. How did Anne do it - changing the way she moved and spoke the way she did? Gilbert contented herself with a slight droop of her shoulders, and fell into step to follow behind Anne as she led the way. 

“We must first return to the place where the incident began,” Anne declared, back in the person of Mr. Raymond.

Even Anne could not keep up one side of a conversation for the entire ten minutes’ walk to the Allans’. After a brief while, she fell into silence as well – a silence that with someone else might have been companionable – while Gilbert loped along, trying to slow her long strides so that she would not overtake Anne instead of following her. 

They were almost of a height now, Anne realized, in one of those moments where Gilbert drew nearer to her: Anne had closed the distance of that two years’ difference in age that had separated them since their first meeting. It meant that when Gilbert forgot to lower her head in an Eleanore-ish fashion – which was frequently – her eyes were nearly level with Anne’s, the green glints in their hazel depths catching the light from the sun. Anne turned her face resolutely forward: she must focus only on the case, and not permit herself to be distracted by any green sparkles of any kind. She should not be glad to see Gilbert Blythe anywhere, least of all so close to her – and yet Anne kept finding her gaze pulled back again, reassured to see Gilbert still following.

After a time, they reached the Allans’ house, skirting around it in a wide circle to reach the back garden without any risk of being seen by Mr. or Mrs. Allan along the way. The garden was very small and very well-kept, a neat square of grass shading away into a tangle of wildflowers at the far edge and then into the white uprightness of the birch forest beyond. 

It was there, at the intersection of the garden path, cornflower clusters, and birch-tree shade that Anne came to a stop and finally turned to look directly at Gilbert once more. “All right. This is…” She paused for a moment, quickly fitting this new location, and Gilbert’s role in it, into the world of her story. “This is your family’s estate, Miss Leavenworth. You are more familiar with the terrain that the – er – fugitive would be covering. Have you any ideas?”

That quick thinking made Gilbert’s smile flash up once more – and then she hastily suppressed it, doing her best to keep in character as best she could. Silently, she paced a few steps up and down the path, trying to imagine what one of her own dogs might have done in the same situation. There were some blackberries; that might be tempting to a dog. They were certainly tempting to Gilbert: she bent down to pluck a few, and had popped half a dozen into her mouth before she realized that Anne was glaring at her. She held out the remaining ones to Anne – if Anne was cross because Gilbert had broken character again, then that couldn’t be helped; but if she was cross because Gilbert wasn’t sharing, then this could go some distance towards remedying it. 

Anne scowled down at Gilbert’s hand for a moment, then picked up a berry between two dainty fingers. “Carry on, Miss Leavenworth,” she said pointedly.

Gilbert hastily folded her hand around the remaining berries and tucked it behind her back, then returned to her scrutiny of the path. Was there any sign of the dog’s passage: pawprints, scratches, trampled grass?

Ah! There was a patch of broken twigs at the bottom of one of the shrubs, just where the path went into the forest. Gilbert darted a step ahead of Anne to point to the spot, still careful to keep silent even in her triumph. 

“Oh!” Anne cried, happily surprised enough to break character for a moment: it was Anne’s own joy, not Mr. Raymond’s, at finally being able to take a concrete step towards her hoped-for goal. Then she cleared her throat and drew herself up, inclining her head in a dignified nod towards Gilbert. “Very good, Miss Leavenworth. I was correct to trust in your familiarity with the location.”

Into the forest they went, following Gilbert’s keen gaze: here a jumble of scrabbling paw-marks; there another cluster of broken twigs, each marking another point along the dog’s journey. After a few minutes, Gilbert realized that she wasn’t staying behind Anne anymore; she was letting her long strides take their natural pace and springing ahead when another clue – or just an impulse – took her, not trying to hold herself back to what her mother considered a decorous and thoughtful pace for a lady. She realized that Anne was content to let that happen, as well. For all that Mr. Raymond was supposed to be leading the investigation, Anne was looking to Gilbert to point the way towards the next bit of the trail that they were following. Without speaking – for Gilbert was still keeping her oath of silence – they had somehow found a common rhythm in their shared paces, with Gilbert moving ahead and falling back while Anne wove her steps around Gilbert’s path.

A bit of red caught Gilbert’s eye down near ground level. She swooped down, one long arm thrusting swiftly forward to grab at it, and waved towards Anne to catch her eye. Held aloft in Gilbert’s hand was the dog’s collar. Its thin leather had snapped where it had caught on the branch of a bush, but the cheerful red ribbon was still intact.

Anne’s eyes lit with a swift sudden smile. “Well spotted, Miss Leavenworth!” Gilbert let her own smile break free, basking in the glow of this new bit of praise. For a moment they grinned at each other, leaving Mr. Raymond and Miss Leavenworth behind – and leaving the old Anne and Gilbert behind as well, for if they were in the schoolroom or out with their friends, they would never have forgotten themselves so much as to smile. But an instant later, Anne remembered herself, and her expression dimmed into a small scowl once more as she turned away. 

Their path led them out of the stand of birches and down another lane, past a cluster of wild roses whose heady scent was so strong that it caught Gilbert’s attention even at a distance. A sudden impulse made her reach out to pluck one of the flowers, and for half an instant, she considered passing it forward as she had with the collar. Perhaps Anne would take it for another clue. But what if she didn’t? What would Gilbert say then? She probably wouldn’t have the chance to say anything, she realized with an inward sigh; Anne would just run away again. Instead, Gilbert tucked it away in her pocket: a fresh rose next to the dried one, wild next to garden-grown. Someday this rose would dry as well, joining its mate in preserved suspension, petals faded and scent fainter, but never entirely gone.

It was only a few moments later that they spotted their quarry: the small silky form of a light-brown spaniel, the fur around its neck still slightly compressed by the collar that had so recently torn off. It was curled up in contented sleep under a bush, dusty little paws batting at the air in some doggy dream. After the run it’s had, Gilbert thought, no wonder it’s tired. 

“Oh!” Anne cried. “Tippet!” She dove down to scoop the little creature up in her arms, heedless of the dust and dirt that its paws smudged across her once-tidy dress. “I am so very glad to see you,” Anne told the dog. “Your mistress will be, too.” That thought brought a deeper smile to Anne’s face, one that lit her from within as she cuddled Tippet against her. 

Seeing that smile made Gilbert’s own joy rise up to fill her with a deep warmth. Anne wasn’t pretending to be Mr. Raymond; she was being Anne, and being happy as herself, and Gilbert had helped her reach that happiness.

As they rounded the bend to bring the Allans’ house in sight once more, the dog’s head lifted, floppy ears perking up: it recognized its home. It strained eagerly towards the familiar door, whining and squirming so strenuously in Anne’s arms that it nearly burst free.

“No, get your hand more under it!” Gilbert cried, forgetting the oath of silence in her surprise. She hurried a bit closer, so that she was just behind Anne – so near that she wondered if Anne could catch the scent of the rose that she had gathered. “Here, I’ll show you.”

Anne could feel Gilbert at her back; wanted to look. But she had sworn her own sort of oath to herself, years before, and even if she could feel her gaze being drawn towards Gilbert yet again, she made herself turn away. “You are not supposed to speak!” she said in sharp whisper – and barely remembered to add, “Miss Leavenworth.” She closed her arms tighter around the wriggling dog, struggling to keep her grasp on it as she hurried down the lane.

Gilbert sighed, quickening her own steps to keep just next to Anne. “Yes, all right, but I can show you what to do. Mr. Raymond,” she added, just as hastily, before rushing ahead with, “Could you please just – “

“No!” Anne persisted, voice rising. “You swore an oath and you must not speak!”

“Anne!” Gilbert didn’t even bother to try to stay in character – and didn’t bother to keep her voice down anymore, either. “It’s going to get away!” She reached out, grabbing at the dog to try to restrain it. “You don’t want to lose it when you’re this close – “

Anne pulled sharply back. “You swore _on your honor_!”

“What on earth?” A new voice broke in: gentle and melodious even as it rose high in astonishment. The two girls turned to see Mrs. Allan standing on the front steps, regarding them with an odd mixture of confusion and benevolence.

The clouds abruptly cleared when she caught sight of the spaniel. “Oh! Tippet!” Anne finally unclasped her arms, and Tippet tumbled down to bound over to her mistress, yipping gleefully around Mrs. Allan’s ankles. “Thank you, girls! Wherever did you find her? And…” Mrs. Allan glanced from Anne to Gilbert and back again – she knew of the feud as well as anyone in Avonlea did, and a different kind of surprise rose up in her voice as she realized, “You worked _together_ to find her?”

“It was Anne’s idea, ma’am,” Gilbert put in quickly. Next to her, Anne let out a tiny gasp – had Gilbert really given her credit? It was true, of course, that the search was her idea, but Anne hadn’t expected Gilbert to yield so easily. “She knew how sad you were that Tippet had gone missing and she wanted to set it right.”

“Thank you, Anne.” There was an extra softness in Mrs. Allan’s voice and smile

Anne had been almost silent until then, watching Mrs. Allan with eyes made wide by apprehension and hope alike. When Mrs. Allan finally gave that thanks, Anne’s breath rushed out all at once, and joy came in to fill the space that her worry had emptied out. “Oh, I am very glad to have been able to help!” she cried, clasping her hands together. Gilbert could see a few scratches left by Tippet’s scrabbling claws, but Anne hardly seemed to notice them, so rapt was she in her attention to Mrs. Allan. “I felt dreadfully sorry for my distraction last week and wanted so very much to do something to make it up to you.”

Mrs. Allan’s smile deepened. “I wondered if something like that was going on. Don’t worry, Anne; all is forgiven. It would have been anyway, for I think that your conscience was doing some hard work of its own.” Anne lowered her head, nodding. “Thank you _both_ ,” Mrs. Allan continued; the subtle emphasis on ‘both’ reinforcing her awareness of how remarkable that cooperation was. “I’ll see you on Sunday, Anne. Please give my best to the Cuthberts. And, Gilbert, to your parents, also.”

Anne and Gilbert bid their farewells and turned to go. They found their steps falling into a matching rhythm again as they walked down the lane, leaving the happy sounds of Tippet and Mrs. Allen fading away behind them.

It was Gilbert who finally broke the silence. “Was I all right as Miss Leavenworth?” she ventured.

Anne was quiet for the space of a few more steps, then sniffed, “You did your best. You aren’t really much like her, I don’t think.” Anne’s eyes flickered over towards Gilbert. “She wouldn’t have known how to follow tracks in the woods.” 

Warmth started to rise up within Gilbert. Was Anne actually praising her knowledge? She looked quickly over, trying to catch Anne’s eyes. Anne’s gaze met hers - but just for just a moment, before Anne turned quickly away again, her pale luminous face angled towards the trees as she said quietly, “I don’t think Miss Leavenworth would have been intelligent enough to nearly get top marks, either. Or worked quite so hard.” And then the moment broke: Anne lifted her chin and gave a sharp sniff, finishing, “Well, at least you’re tall like she is.”

As Anne strode on, Gilbert couldn’t help smiling. Even if she had not exactly succeeded at being Miss Leavenworth, she was starting to think that she might be doing all right at being Gilbert, at least in ways that mattered to Anne.

Anne and Gilbert walked side by side towards home as the sun began to sink below the trees in a glow of pink and gold; and when they came to the place in the road where their paths must turn aside from each other, they found themselves parting in silence not because of any oath or anger, but simply because silence felt right for the moment. Perhaps there would be more that they needed to say to each other in the future – certainly there was more that Gilbert wished to say. But for now, it was enough for each girl to know that she had succeeded in what she had wanted to do: restoring the happiness of someone whose esteem she treasured.

**Author's Note:**

> \- Thank you for such lovely prompts! I hope I’ve done justice to girl!Gilbert – I was surprised at how much of the story ended up in her POV - and the idea that they'd try to cooperate but end up bickering was just too much fun to pass up. And, more seriously, this book meant a huge amount to me when I was growing up, and it was a privilege to be able to write in its world.
> 
> \- _The Leavenworth Case_ , by Anna Katharine Green, was published in 1878. It was a foundational work in the mystery genre overall in addition to being the first major mystery novel by a woman: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Leavenworth_Case
> 
> \- The title is from Emily Dickinson: https://www.bartleby.com/113/2028.html


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